


Steele Thankful

by SuzySteele



Category: Remington Steele (TV)
Genre: Gen, Holidays
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-05 23:40:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12804915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SuzySteele/pseuds/SuzySteele
Summary: Laura has a mystery to solve - what is Remington up to on Thanksgiving? This is a Second Season story in my series "Becoming Steele".





	Steele Thankful

November 1983

 

It was three in the afternoon on the Wednesday before Thanksgiving. The soft elevator chimes bells, the muted scuff of foot traffic on carpet, and the cheerful client greetings that typified L.A.’s Century Towers on a weekday had noticeably faded, and the bustling office complex had become a ghost town. Mildred had requested a half-day off and was already at thirty-thousand feet on route to Seattle to visit her sister and family. Mr. Steele wasn’t in either and was, well, wherever Mr. Steele elected to be. Probably lining up a leggy blonde model for an intimate dinner with white tapered candles and guinea fowl instead of turkey. Something glamorous. Something far more exciting than what Laura Holt was doing.

 

Laura signed the summary letter that closed this particular case file, smacked the manila folder closed, and tossed it into the partly filled out-box that rested at the corner of her desk. She then selected the next folder that sat atop a neat stack that rested within her in-box. Mildred had shaken her head in dismay as she had reloaded the file stack before departing, and Laura had refused to accept the implied criticism. As the owner and operator of Remington Steele Investigations, she knew that the approaching holiday season offered three important advantages: a lull in business until mid-January, uninterrupted time to catch up on case files and budgets, and a damn good excuse not to travel to Connecticut and stay with her mother and her sister’s family.

 

Bliss.

 

Back when she and Wilson lived together, Laura had naively entertained the fantasy that she might develop her own tradition for Thanksgiving. Turkey and pie and yams baked in marshmallows and a day together of laughing and cuddling and watching football on the sofa.

 

That fantasy hadn’t lasted long.

 

Now she was a realist, and she knew that had been the sort of fantasy meant for foolish dreamers. Laura the realist had already planned to spend the holiday continuing to fix-up her new loft and get in several hours of solid piano practice. Maybe order Chinese take-away from that neighbor restaurant she hadn’t had time to visit yet. They looked like they would make a decent moo-shu pork. Most of her Christmas shopping was done as well, but there were probably one or two Black Friday sales she’d check out.

 

As the afternoon waned and the sunlight faded, the building grew quieter and quieter, so much so that by five-thirty she actually heard the audible ‘snick’ as the Agency’s front door was unlocked. _Who could that be?_ _I thought I’d locked it._ More curious than alarmed, she rose and crossed around her desk to peer into the front office.

 

It was Mr. Steele, dressed in yet another trademark tailored suit. This one was a sedate brown twill with burgundy and mustard touches, and he leapt like a startled deer when she appeared within her opened door.

 

“Laura!” He clasped his chest melodramatically. “What are you doing here?”

 

She eyed him up and down. Doubtless he was up to something, but he was still wonderful to look at. She leaned against the door frame and raised an eyebrow. “I might ask the same of you. I thought you’d left for the weekend.”

 

“What? Oh, not I. Just some shopping to do.”

 

She couldn’t help herself. Any insight into Mr. Steele was welcome, since the man was typically so private about himself. “Big plans for tomorrow?”

 

He looked a little uncomfortable. “Ah, yes. Actually. I thought you’d be away? Visiting Abigail?”

 

“No. It’s such a short weekend and she’s all the way in Connecticut and the flights are always a disaster with East Coast winter. I just thought I’d catch up here at the office.”

 

There was an awkward pause, during which Steele twitched his French cuffs and Laura continued to watch, her arms crossed against the soft fabric of her silk blouse as she puzzled over what he was up to.

 

“Don’t let me keep you from your plans,” she said.

 

At the same time, Steele jumped into the same silence. “Don’t let me interrupt what you’re doing.”

 

They looked at each other. Laura smiled, he grinned back, and then they both laughed, back to comfortable.

 

“So. No plans for tomorrow?” he intuited.

 

_Too many memories of Thanksgivings where her parents shouted at each other and Richard Holt disappeared into the living room to watch the Packers trounce the Bears while her mother martyred herself in the kitchen preparing an over-the-top holiday feast. A frightened little Laura who crawled into her father’s warm lap for reassurance, while Frances scored points by playing Suzy Homemaker with Mother back in the kitchen._

 

“I’ve never been big on Thanksgiving,” she lied. “Too much food, followed by hours of stunned somnolence.”

 

Steele nodded. But his blue eyes were probing, assessing. As if he saw right through her explanation. Damn him. “Hmm. Quaint American tradition, that.”

 

The silence stretched. Laura felt like he was inspecting her. Like she was supposed to give him…something? He’d been doing that a lot these days, ever since the explosion had destroyed her home and nearly killed them both. She would catch him looking at her as if he was seeing something or someone new and different that he hadn't noticed before. She hadn’t the slightest idea what it was and she found his focused attention unnerving. And, maybe, if she was honest with herself, even a little welcome. She shook herself and gestured back at her office where the stack of folders atop her desk was visible.

 

“I’ll let you go. You’ve got plans.”

 

He nodded, agreeing with her. “How about I pick you up at eight tomorrow morning?”

 

“Fine—” Then her brain processed what he’d just said. “What?”

 

“Eight. Dress for outdoors.”

 

She frowned as she put two and two together. “Um, I grew up here, remember? I’m not that interested in the Thanksgiving Day parade. Besides, you need to be in place by five or six a.m., if not tonight, if you want a decent spot to see the floats and everything.”

 

He blinked and looked a little baffled. “What? Oh.” And then she spotted that mischievous twinkle. A corner of his mouth went crooked, and she knew instantly he was Up To Something. “Dress for the out-of-doors anyway. And wear comfortable shoes.” He pointed toward her office. “Remember. Early start.” He smiled the smile that always made her heart thump a little faster. “Pleasant dreams, Laura.” Then he sailed into his own office, rattled briefly about for something, and left as swiftly as he arrived, locking the door behind him and leaving a baffled Laura to stare blankly at her files, thinking of him instead of her paperwork.

 

Which might have been exactly what he had intended.

 

***

 

Laura couldn’t imagine Mr. Steele being up and at ‘em by eight in the morning. Especially on a holiday. The man couldn’t manage nine a.m. on a work day. So the following morning at seven-fifty-five she bounded down the three flights of stairs from her loft apartment with a mixture of skepticism and curiosity. She took her partner at his word and had donned jeans, a warm shirt, quilted vest, and trainers. To her surprise, Steele was already waiting for her on the sidewalk outside, similarly in jeans and denim work shirt. He looked damn good in jeans, but before she could enjoy that view further, she realized the agency’s limo was also waiting curbside. Her good mood vanished into annoyance.

 

“Mr. Steele, it’s a holiday. Our limo service contract does not extend into abusing Fred’s precious vacation time!”

 

But he merely opened the door for her. The front passenger door. _Have I ever sat in the front seat before?_   “For you, Laura,” he said with a sweep of a hand.

 

“What?” She peered inside. There was no Fred. She glanced up at Steele, who was grinning like the Cheshire Cat. Doubtless a relation. He dangled the keys before her puzzled gaze.

 

“Fred let me borrow the limo.”

 

“What’s wrong with your Auburn?”

 

“Not enough space. Hop in. It’s getting cold.”

 

“I’m not cold.” Since it was sixty degrees and typical So-Cal weather, his last quip made no sense. But Steele was clearly up to something, and from long experience Laura knew that trying to uncover his latest scam was like using a plastic bucket to stem the tide. She may as well play along and let him reveal the con in his own good time. So she settled into the plush leather seat and, while he drove, she played at guessing where they were spending their day.

 

“The beach would be nice,” she mused aloud. “A tad chilly but a walk would be wonderful.” Nope. He just drove past the freeway on-ramp. “Maybe a day up at Big Bear?” She sniffed. Frowned. “Is it my imagination? Or do I smell food?”

 

He smiled but kept his eyes fixed on the mostly empty road. “I adore your detective instincts, Laura.”

 

But he didn’t take the cut-across to the I-5. Instead, he drove deeper into south Los Angeles and into a decrepit neighborhood and finally pulled up before an old storefront that looked vaguely familiar. Before she could reach to lock her car door, several people emerged from the storefront’s entrance and swarmed over the limo. Laura shrank back instinctively as they flung open the limo’s doors and popped open the trunk. She became aware that Steele had already exited and was now holding her door open. He looked down at her with an ironic expression.

 

“You could sit there all day, Laura,” he drawled, “but you’d be far more useful inside.”

 

“Where are we?” She stepped out and finally recognized the building. “This is where your friend Wallace worked.”

 

A large African-American woman with her hair caught up in a twist of bright green fabric came up to them and engulfed Steele in an enormous hug. “Happy Thanksgiving, sugar babe! We’re all set up inside and the army’s ready to go!”

 

_Sugar babe?!_

 

He hugged her warmly back. “Thanks, Maeve. The birds are cooked and just need to be deboned and reheated. The vegetables are all in the trunk. I think a few of the pies slid under the car seat when I took a turn too quickly.”

 

“Don’t you worry ‘bout that. We’re already under control here.” She turned with a broad smile to greet a baffled Laura. “And who’s this?”

 

Steele dropped a casual arm around Laura, surprising her even further. “My very good friend and partner. Laura Holt, Mavis Martin.”

 

Mavis took both of Laura’s hands into her warm large ones. “Call me Maeve. It’s lovely to meet you, Laura. We can always use an extra pair of hands here at the Mission dinner. Can you cook?”

 

“Not a lick,” said Steele, jumping in. “But she’s got the organizational skills of General Montgomery and can dish it out with the best of them.”

 

“Then I got the perfect job for you, girlfriend.” Before Laura could protest or comment, Maeve had led her inside, where Laura discovered a large open hall with a kitchen on one end and stacks of folding chairs and long tables at the other. Laura turned toward the kitchen but Maeve was already steering her with an expert touch toward the seating materials. “We’re expecting over a hundred and fifty folks today,” she explained with reassuring confidence, and Laura found herself organizing row after row of tables and chairs. She and several others covered the tables with paper from long rolls, and then unpacked and set up mountains of paper plates and plastic tableware and Styrofoam cups for coffee.

 

Laura worked like a demon all morning and was glad for the advice to wear jeans and cross-trainers. Once the tables and service were set, Maeve sent her back to the kitchen and paired her up with a scruffy gentleman named Zeke to peel a fifty-pound bag of potatoes. He wore a black leather vest and was missing a front tooth and Laura was mortified to discover that he was peeling five potatoes to her one, and when she finally got over her intimidation to learn his secret, he turned out to be a former Marine who had done his share of KP on a tour in ‘Nam.

 

She was kept so busy that she barely saw Steele and once the guests arrived – as Maeve said to call the homeless men – Laura was busy moving from table to table and refilling coffee cups from a plastic carafe and replenishing the many plates of butter and baskets of hot rolls. At one point she spotted Steele stationed behind another long table, sporting an apron and transferring steaming slices of turkey onto plates in an assembly line of food. With that uncanny way he had, he almost seemed to sense her attention. He glanced up and met her gaze, then favored her with a cheeky grin that warmed her as much as had his goodnight kiss last week. She had the unaccountable sensation that she had just been judged and passed with flying colors.

 

By three in the afternoon the flow of guests had slowed to a trickle. They’d run through the ten turkey carcasses, and Laura thought that if she looked at another coffee pot, she’d scream. It was right about then that a familiar touch caught at her elbow.

 

“Time to feed the most attractive help,” said Mr. Steele and he placed a plate of steaming food in her hands. Turkey, mashed potatoes, green beans. It smelled heavenly and Laura suddenly discovered that she was hungry. Steele held another plate for himself and gestured toward a pair of empty seats. But before he could settle into his belated meal, Laura leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

 

“What’s that about?” he asked. She could tell he was pretending to not understand.

 

“Thank you. For the best Thanksgiving ever.”

 

“I made you work all day,” he pointed out.

 

“Funny. It didn’t feel like work at all.”

 

“It never does, I find, when the work turns into something you enjoy. And if we’re lucky, it even becomes a passion.”

 

He held her gaze as he spoke, and her answering smile warmed with understanding; he was clearly talking about more than just their day at Wallace’s mission.

 

“Passion enough for two, I think.” She raised her Styrofoam coffee cup to salute his. “Happy Thanksgiving, Mr. Steele.”

 

“Thankful, indeed, Miss Holt.”

  
**The End**


End file.
